"The enemy?" said Maxwell. "But—didn't you say you were the only dominant life-form in the whole universe?"
"That's right." The Beachcomber outlined an egg-shaped figure with a motion of his cupped hands, caressingly. "The universe; all of it. Everything that existed in this space. It was all ours. But the enemy didn't come from this universe."
"Another dimension?" Maxwell asked.
The Beachcomber looked puzzled. "Another—" he said, and stopped. "I thought I could say it better than that in English, but I can't. Dimension isn't right—call it another time-line; that's a little closer."
"Another universe like ours, co-existent with this one, anyhow," said Maxwell.
"No—not the same as ours, at all. Different laws, different—" he stopped again.
"Well, can you describe the enemy?"
"Ugly," said the Beachcomber promptly. "We'd been searching other—dimensions, if you want to use that word—for thousands of years, and this was the first intelligent race we found. We hated them on sight." He paused. "If I drew you a picture, it would look like a little spiny cylinder. But a picture wouldn't convey it. I can't explain." His mouth contracted with distaste.
"Go on," said Maxwell. "What happened? They invaded you?"
"No. We tried to destroy them. We broke up the crystal spiderwebs they built between their worlds; we smashed their suns. But more than a quarter of them survived our first attack, and then we knew we were beaten. They were as powerful as we were, more so in some ways—"